Labyrinth
by Starzangel
Summary: What would happen if the enemy didn't play by the rules? COMPLETE
1. Ignored Rules

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Disclaimer: Sadly, none of Relic Hunter is mine. I only borrowed the concept and characters to have fun (but gain no profit) writing this story, which is mine.

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Archive: If you're not FanFic.Net, then please ask first via submitting a review (leave your email address & I'll get back to you - and probably say "Yes!").

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Author's Note: I don't speak French or Spanish. Any words or phrases in either of these languages, I've translated from English using an online translator. Let me know if there are any mistakes, so I can correct them. Thanks!

I've never been to France or Spain, so any descriptions of places in these countries are fictional. The Guardian Stone is also a figment of my imagination.

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Relic Hunter:

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Labyrinth

By

Starzangel

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Chapter One: Ignored Rules

As Nigel Bailey stared down the cold metal barrel of a gun, he wryly mused that this wasn't what he'd had in mind when Sydney suggested their latest venture abroad. The steel mouth of the weapon gaped at him, within its black depths a bullet was held back waiting to be released. A metal pellet that could kill in a flash of cordite.

An Egyptology conference, she'd said, a nice, safe conference at the University of Paris. A tour of the university-owned museum that had just opened, talks from top researchers in the field, some time for sightseeing and shopping. Nowhere on the invitation that had arrived at the Ancient Studies department in Trinity College had it mentioned the myth of the Guardian Stone (which was in fact a Spanish legend), Nigel had read it himself. Also, there had not been a trip to an ancient tomb in the South of France on the agenda sent to them, nor on the copy pinned to welcome desk at _L'université de Paris_.

Nigel sighed quietly, his eyes still locked on the gun pointing at his nose. He should've known by now that whenever he left the country with Professor Sydney Fox it led to nothing but trouble.

"A quite little teaching job"…famous last words. Inwardly, Nigel grinned. Not that he would give it up for anything. Moving to the United States and working for Sydney had turned the young Englishman's life upside down, but overall he hadn't ever been so happy in his life. He sure didn't want to lose that life now. Nigel gulped, his eyes still transfixed on the unwavering gun barrel.

"Give me the scroll, Professor Fox."

Nigel shifted his gaze to look at the face of the man who had them trapped. The thick-muscled, thirty-something year-old had introduced himself as Jacques D'orage, an expert in Spanish History and Mythology. Under the man's long blond fringe, there was an odd glint in his pale blue eyes that seemed to warn that there was a screw or two loose in his head.

Thoroughly unnerved, Nigel turned his eyes to Sydney, who stood with her crossbow aimed unwaveringly at D'orage and a defiant look on her bronze features.

She hadn't known this trip would turn into something dangerous either, and so had allowed Karen to come along with them. But now the young secretary was in Paris awaiting their return from this latest relic hunt. As was Preston, Nigel's older brother, who had unexpectedly been in France as well.

Oh, this outing was turning out just swell, Nigel thought, irritably. He should have taken the hint when their plane had been delayed for two hours, and gone back to the office and marked some more papers. Yet, alas, there was nothing he could do about that now. He'd just have to hope that they miraculously made it out of this mess.

"Ms Fox, it appears that you do not realise that you are outgunned…"

Suddenly, there was the sound of a gun going off.

Nigel's eyes widened with surprise, as he felt something hit him in the stomach. The burning steel slug blasted through him, his insides erupting with fiery pain in its wake.

Sydney's startled eyes met Nigel's, her expression that of horror, as he shakily clutched at his side and staggered backwards.

"I'll take that, thank you, Professor," D'orage said, his manner smooth and completely unemotional, slipping the ancient parchment from the distracted relic hunter's loose grip.

As if she were watching it in slow motion, Sydney saw Nigel's legs give out. He first hit the sandy tomb floor with his knees and then toppled over onto his back, his face twisted with agony.

Sydney finally snapped out the paralysis that shock had cast over her and rushed to her fallen assistant. He was hunched over on his side, his arms wrapped around his stomach, sweat breaking out on his forehead. Sydney pulled his head up into her lap, cradling it against her with one arm as her other hand reached down to press over the top of Nigel's. She felt blood, red and hot, seeping between his fingers and onto hers.

Her head snapped up and she fixed D'orage with a furious glare that could have melted iron. This madman had shot an unarmed man he had cornered, where was his code of honour? There had been no spoken warning, how could she have known that he would pull the trigger? He'd let the barrel of the gun drop slightly as he'd spoken to her, then, with a sudden malicious grin that removed any idea of it being an accident, he'd fired. What had he been doing pointing the weapon at Nigel any way? Why not her, the greatest threat? His two followers had both of them covered, so there had been no need. She had been seconds from surrendering the scroll. Relinquishing it any earlier would have gone against her pride and honour, much later and, in common practice, she would then have endangered Nigel by her lengthy wait. But she hadn't been banking on an impatient adversary who paid no heed to the unwritten, but well-known, laws of confrontation. That odd look about D'orage, she should have guessed…

Nigel was breathing in painful gasps and Sydney could feel his hands slowly slipping beneath hers as his strength left him.

"Syd…" he wheezed.

"Hang in there, Nigel," Sydney whispered.

She knew she had to do something quick or he would bleed to death. Gently, she lowered Nigel to the ground, then placing his hands firmly over his wound she gave them a supportive squeeze and stood up.

Sydney stooped to pick up her crossbow and aimed it at her foe's departing back, her hands wet with Nigel's blood.

"D'orage, you're going to help me get Nigel to our car or this bolt will go through the back of your neck."

The Frenchman slowly turned around and cocked his head to one side. Then a broad grin spread across his face.

"I don't think so."

With Nigel's blanched and still form in the corner of her eye, Sydney's bloodstained hands began to tremble slightly. She watched D'orage raise his gun once more and, over the sound of the rushing of the river that ran through the tomb, she heard two safety catches click off behind her. The relic hunter tipped her chin up defiantly, but fear was beginning to edge onto her features. If she were shot there'd be no one to help Nigel…

"I'm going to count to three," Sydney warned. "One…"

Suddenly, chaos descended upon the tomb. Figures rushed in from the tunnel that from outside to the main chamber. The light from the torches burning in their holders on the walls glinted off the edges of swords and guns. Someone barrelled into D'orage and Sydney heard forceful collisions with the two men behind her. At the same time three bullets were let loose and ricocheted off the rock walls. There was a yelp of pain from one of the new arrivals.

Sydney counted four newcomers, all of whom were dressed completely in black with a slightly rugged look about them. They were all heavily armed, skilful with their weapons and adept at hand-to-hand combat.

Though they had most probably just saved her life, Sydney couldn't be sure that this wasn't inadvertent and that they weren't more rival relic hunters who would kill her once they determined her as a threat. She chose to stay out of the fight and tried to get to Nigel.

However, the chamber wasn't very large and the scuffling figures and brandished weapons cut Sydney off from her assistant. She found herself being slowly backed up away from Nigel and towards the river, which emerged from a small cave at the back of the room and disappeared through another opening in the wall opposite.

Sydney hooked the crossbow onto the waistband of her breeches and clenched her fists, preparing to force her way through the combat. But then D'orage came bursting out of nowhere, a black-clad man on his tail. He tried to skid to a halt at the sight of the approaching river, but it was too late. He flung out a desperate arm as he went over the edge and caught Sydney sharply across the face. She had barely registered the stinging of the cut his ring had made in her cheek, before a much more alarming realisation dawned on her. 

She was falling.

There was the splash of D'orage hitting the water, a glimpse of Nigel's motionless body through a gap in the fighting, the momentary rush of wind in her ears and then the sharp smack as she hit the surface of the river.

The water dipped underneath Sydney and surged up to envelope her, pulling her down into its smothering depths. She felt the strong sideways tug of the current and fought against it, trying to reach the surface. But the river was carrying her away from the chamber and through the opening in the wall, away from the lights that showed her which way the surface was.

With her lungs burning and strength waning, Sydney became surrounded by total darkness.


	2. Parted

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Chapter Two: Parted

"Quelqu'un est dans l'eau!"

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Someone is in the water, the waterlogged cogs within the head resting on the driftwood translated. 

"Est-ce qu'elle est vivante?"

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Is she alive? 

The water churned as a boat approached and her arms slid from the life-saving raft. She slipped under the surface, her chilled legs unable to move in attempt to keep her afloat. Water flooded into her nose and mouth, going down into her lungs.

Strong hands gripped hold of her arms tightly. She was pulled upwards and dragged into the small boat. Feeling air on her face again, she made a feeble attempt to draw in breath. She choked and then coughed, water pooling out of her mouth and joining the torrents that ran from her hair and clothes. She coughed again and then drew in a ragged breath.

"Respirez! Madame, respirez!"

She obeyed, drawing in breath after breath of sweet oxygen-rich air, as her long black hair was wiped away from where it had stuck to her face.

"Le hôpital, Helene!"

The boat at once began to move with haste towards the shore.

.

.

"Professor Fox."

Sydney sleepily opened her eyes and looked up at the doctor who was treating her at the Toulouse hospital.

"Dr Bois, did you manage to – "

"I'm afraid there has been no Englishman with a gunshot wound admitted to the hospital today," he told her, gently. "I've notified the police."

The relic hunter's hopeful face fell.

"Is there someone we could telephone for you?" Dr Bois suggested.

"Yes," she answered, weakly. "Yes…in Paris…Karen…and Preston Bailey…must tell him…his brother…"

"Do you have a telephone number for them?"

"They're staying in Le Hôtel Paris…for the Egyptology conference."

"Try to get some more rest, Professor Fox," Dr Bois urged, softly. "We'll contact them."

The doctor stood up and turned to leave. Sydney stared at his departing back, yet it wasn't the French doctor that she saw, but Nigel bleeding to death lying on the tomb floor as she had last seen him.

"Oh, Nigel…I'm so sorry…"

.

.

"Sydney, are you sure you're up to this?" Preston Bailey asked, catching her arm as she stumbled for the sixth time since they'd left the hospital. They hadn't even made it across the car park yet.

"I'm fine," Sydney snapped. "Where's the car?"

"Over here," Karen replied, indicating a blue rental car up ahead, her young face creased into a concerned frown.

As the relic hunter nearly fell again, her secretary decided to give it a go.

"Look, Syd, maybe we should wait a few hours. Let you gain your strength a bit."

"It's been six hours, Karen! How long do you want to wait?"

"The police have looked, Sydney. They didn't find him," Preston argued, though they continued towards the car nonetheless.

"Preston, he's your brother!" Sydney accused, stopping and turning on him. "Don't you want to do everything in your power to make sure he is found?"

"Yes, of course. But – "

"Then come on!"

Preston and Karen admitted defeat and, without further objections from either, the three of them finally reached the car. They pulled out of the car park and Preston followed Sydney's directions to the tomb.

They stopped at the edge of the woodland within which lay the fateful tomb. Sydney swung her legs out of the car, obstinately ignoring the throbbing in her head. Clutching the crossbow that she had miraculously not lost in the river, she led the others through the trees.

Sydney's brisk pace brought them to the entrance of the tomb in two minutes. They then carefully examined the surrounding area. The well-trodden ground and broken undergrowth showed that everyone who had come to the tomb that day had all taken roughly the same route from the road. There were signs of people having left the same way, but it was impossible to make out whom. Apart from the telltale print of a policeman's boot, all the other fainter prints could have belonged to anyone. The land was void of any sign of another direction of departure.

Deciding they could gain nothing more from the outside, Sydney flicked on her torch and the other two followed suit. Taking a deep breath, she led them into the tomb.

They followed the passageway to the main chamber, where the tiger's eye engraved into the rock above the entrance stared down at them. With their footsteps echoing around the tomb, they passed under the eye and entered the burial chamber. Preston went to the back of the room and began to mumble to himself as he scanned the writing carved into the half-opened lid of the stone coffin, which Sydney and Nigel had removed the First Scroll of the Tiger from early that day. Karen stared uneasily into the river, rubbing her arms as if cold.

Meanwhile, Sydney had instantly gone straight over to a particular spot by the wall. She shone her torch onto the floor and stood there oddly still and silent. The other two eventually noticed, and warily approached her. Preston added his torch light to Sydney's.

He gasped in horror upon realising what the circles of light were illuminating. A pool of blood had dried on the sand. Nigel's blood. His brother's blood.

Nausea rose to Preston's throat. It hadn't seemed real before – not when the hotel receptionist had relayed the message, not even when a distressed Sydney had told him. Yet, here was the proof. Nigel, his own little brother, had been shot and had then lain bleeding on the floor of this tomb. Now he was missing and there was no way to tell whether he was alive or dead.

"What are we going to do now?" Karen asked the question Preston couldn't manage to get out. He was feeling physically unable to speak and swallowed thickly.

"The men dressed in black," Sydney declared, "we've got to find them."

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Nigel opened his eyes. His blurry vision took in an ornate ceiling styled with a mixture of French and Spanish designs.

"Maman, he is awake!"

Nigel turned his head to see a young girl hurry out the door. Groggily, he looked around the room, which appeared to be the bedroom of a large Spanish villa. The large windows were thrown open, letting in the hot sunshine of late afternoon. Yet, the room was comfortably cool thanks to the air conditioning and additional electric fans dotted around. The furniture and décor spoke of the luxury and great wealth of someone with fine taste in architecture. Bright, typically Spanish colours adorned the fabrics, while the walls were painted a calm cream with thin gold bordering.

He heard the girl running back, her bare feet hitting the floorboards. At the door the sound abruptly stopped and wide blue eyes stared around the doorframe at him. Nigel tried to smile weakly at her, but he was slowly regaining sensations from his body and the messages he received from his left side were none too kind or gentle. Instead, he turned away, his face twisted into a grimace.

Nigel heard heavier footsteps approach more slowly, and then the scurrying of the young girl as she followed the older arrival. He wanted to turn back to see who this new visitor was, but dizziness had gripped him and he found himself unable to move.

"Does this mean he will live, Momia? Will he get better now?" The girl's voice again, high-pitched with excitement.

"Nicole, calm down. Fetch me a glass of cold water," an older female voice commanded. Its owner moved around the bed to come into Nigel's field of vision. A dark-haired pretty woman of just over thirty looked down at him, smiling slightly.

"Hello, Nigel. How are you feeling?" she asked, gently.

"How…how do you know my name?" Nigel asked, his voice weak and strained.

She smiled kindly again and reached to pick up what Nigel recognised as his wallet from the bedside table.

"You are Nigel Bailey of the Trinity College, USA." Then the woman frowned faintly. "But your accent…it is not American…?"

"No. I was born in England." Nigel pushed his hands against the mattress and tried to sit up. The woman sprung forward and placed a hand on his chest to prevent him rising, but it was too late.

"_Ah!_" Nigel cried out, as a sharp burning ripped across his stomach.

"Lie still," the woman pleaded. "You must lie still."

Memories flooded back to Nigel. The pain in his side…he'd been shot…in the tomb…Sydney…

"Sydney! Where is she?" Nigel looked around the room frantically. "An American woman, Professor Sydney Fox, is she here?"

Ignoring the pain and vertigo that swept over him, Nigel sat up. The woman's face mirrored his alarm, but for an entirely different reason.

"Please, you must lay back down!" she cried. "You'll reopen the wound!"

Nigel paid no heed to her, pushed back the sheets that covered him and slid his legs over the side of the bed. He was surprised to find himself wearing loose trousers made of blue silk and had thick white bandages wrapped around his exposed top-half.

"They didn't bring a woman back, only you and two men who are now locked in the prison." The woman placed restraining slender hands on Nigel's shoulders. "My husband will tell you everything he knows when he gets back."

But Nigel pushed her away with strength she didn't expect, rose to his feet and made for the door.

"Sydney! Sydney!"

He staggered and clutched a nearby desk. With fright the woman noticed red rapidly blossoming through the bandages around the man's side. She hurried over to him, but he was quicker still, pushing away from the table and attempting the remainder of the distance to the door.

Nigel reached the threshold, but then the room reeled and his hand clutched at his wound. The young girl appeared before him, as black spots filtered into his vision, multiplying quickly. Then he was slowly falling.

The girl screamed and dropped the glass she was holding. It shattered on the floor.


	3. The Guardian Stone

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Chapter Three: The Guardian Stone

Francesco de la Piedra was a slender man in his thirties. He was good-looking, despite the weight of responsibility having aged him slightly. Dark brown hair brushed the top of his shoulders and an ancient sword in a leather scabbard hung across him, giving him the look of a gung-ho adventurer. His blue eyes were alight with life and his gaze was warm and friendly. The hands that pressed Nigel's in greeting, as he introduced himself, were dry and strong. The Englishman had come around from his faint to find the tall man staring out of the window, waiting for him to return to the world of the conscious.

This man, who spoke English with a mixture of French and Spanish inflections, pulled a wooden chair with a purple velvet seat next to the bed in which Nigel was back safely lying on.

"Welcome to El Pueblo Ocultado de la Piedra, Nigel. Or Pueblo de la Piedra is the shorter version," Francesco said, grinning and waving an arm to embrace his surroundings.

"El Pueblo Ocultado de la Piedra…The Hidden Village of the Stone…" Nigel muttered, translating the name.

"Usted habla español?" Francesco asked, pleasantly surprised that this foreigner appeared to be a linguist.

"Sí," Nigel replied, nodding his head. He did speak Spanish.

"Fantástico!" Francesco beamed wider. "Et français?"

"Oui." Yes, he was indeed fluent in French too.

"Merveilleux! You shall fit in well here, my friend."

"Señor de la Piedra, can you tell me –"

"About your friend?" Francesco said, predicting the question. "This American woman?"

Nigel nodded eagerly, making as if to sit up.

"Yes, do you know if – "

Francesco raised a hand, begging the young man to be still and listen. Feeling incredibly weak and remembering what had happened last time he'd moved too much, Nigel complied and lent back into the soft pillows.

"I saw a woman in the tomb. She was a slim woman with slightly dark skin, long black hair and a small crossbow in her hands. Is this the woman of which you speak? Professor Sydney Fox?"

"Yes," Nigel said, but his voice was wary. He didn't like the sorrowful expression on Francesco's face.

"I'm afraid I have bad news for you then, Nigel…"

"No! Oh God…"

"She and D'orage, the leader of the two men I have held in my prison, fell into the river that runs through the tomb. The current pulled them both out of sight. I commanded a thorough search along the river, but neither of them was found. I'm sorry."

"Are you telling me she's dead?" Nigel's voice was hollow.

"She may have been picked up by a boat or made it to the shore and found help. But in many places the river is thick with weeds, if she got caught up in these…"

"No!" Nigel clapped his hands over his ears, not wanting to hear suggestions that Sydney had drowned. "She can't…" His voice broke. "I'd…"

His heart heavy, Francesco looked down at the pale young man who had somehow just managed turn an even whiter shade.

Suddenly, the Englishman's features slid into solid determination.

"I won't believe it!" Nigel cried. "I have to look for her!"

His expression grave, Francesco firmly held the younger man down. Nigel struggled. Though he weakened almost at once, he grew angry at being restrained and this restored his strength.

"You have already lost a dangerous amount of blood, and we have no way to give you a transfusion here. I cannot allow you to loose any more," Francesco said, sternly, keeping his strong hold on Nigel. "If your friend is somehow alive, you'll be no good to her dead."

Rational sense caught up with Nigel and he slumped against the bed once more. Francesco released him and became rather concerned as he saw the amount of exhaustion that swept over the wounded man. He took hold of a weak wrist and checked Nigel's pulse.

"Nicole, are you there?" Francesco called, his expression still worried. He turned to the doorway and a slim nine-year-old girl with dark-hair stepped out from behind the frame. "Get your mother and the doctor." 

"Is he…?" the girl queried, tentatively.

"Now, Nicole."

"Yes, Papa."

Francesco's concerned face kept spinning in and out of focus as Nigel looked up at it and he found himself panting for breath.

"He's coming," said the familiar voice of the woman Nigel had seen last time he'd woken up. The woman looked tense, as she hurried into the room and over to a table covered in vials of coloured liquid, sprigs of herbs and an assortment of different sized pestles.

It wasn't long before a portly, middle-aged man with greying hair entered the room at a brisk pace with the girl, Nicole, scampering after him. The girl hung back out of the way, as the doctor approached Nigel's bed.

"Here drink this," the doctor instructed, talking a glass of dark green liquid the woman had prepared.

The glass was tipped against Nigel's lips and he obediently parted them to allow the fluid to flow into his mouth and swallowed. The concoction tasted bitter and smelt of cabbage, but Nigel didn't have the strength to complain or ask what it was.

With the glass half drained and Nigel unable to take down any more, the doctor straightened up and passed it back to the woman.

"Marietta, stay with him," the doctor told her. "Keep a close watch on his breathing. If it becomes strained or irregular call me at once."

Francesco leant over the bed, peering into Nigel's face.

"Nigel? Nigel, can you hear me?" he asked. The Englishman nodded slightly, and Francesco squeezed his hand. "Get the rest you need, mon ami. I will return later."

Nigel watched the departing backs of his host and the doctor, then glanced at the woman, Marietta, who sat down at the foot of his bed. She smiled reassuringly, and Nigel gave in to the lead-weight feeling of his eyelids.

.

.

As he'd promised, Francesco de la Piedra went to visit Nigel again after having had his supper. He found the young Englishman greatly improved after a couple of hour's sleep.

Francesco pulled up the chair again and stared at Nigel for a moment as though trying to decide how best to say what he had to say. Nigel's first panicky thought was that they'd found Sydney's dead body. But then he noticed the enthusiasm dancing in man's eyes.

"Nigel, let me tell you a story…" Francesco leant back in his chair. "Centuries ago, there was once a poor Spanish fisherman who saved the life of a wealthy man from India and the lives of his family, when they were shipwrecked during a storm off the coast of Barcelona. To repay the poor man's kindness, the Indian man gave him a stone. This stone was no ordinary stone, but a large jewel in the amber colour of a tiger's eye. The stone was known as the Guardian Stone…"

"A stone said to possess the power to protect those who own it from famine and war," Nigel filled in, his eyes widening at the other man's mention of the relic he and Sydney had come to the South of France to hunt for.

Francesco smiled widely and nodded.

"The Stone protected the poor man and his family so well that they prospered and the man came to own his village. He then used the Stone to help the others, so that life was good for all the villagers for many years."

Francesco's face darkened. 

"However, there is always a bad apple in the barrel. A sceptical and greedy young lad did not believe in the powers of the Stone and was impressed only by the amount of wealth that could be obtained from selling such a gem. One night, this boy stole the Stone and went off to make his fortune from it. He was not halfway to the city before bandits caught him and robbed him of everything including the clothes on his back.

"The next morning, the villagers discovered that the Stone and the boy were missing. A party set off after them and found the wretched thief sobbing in the ditch at the side of the road. He confessed at once and a team of villagers set off after the bandits. They tracked down their camp, but found the bandits slaughtered and the Stone gone. There were fresh hoof prints leading off into the hills. They followed this trail and it was months before they returned to the village. Upon their return they found the village to be suffering from a severe drought. Worse still all they had been able to bring back was the news that they had eventually caught the bandit who had murdered his fellows and taken the Stone. However, the thief had been converted by a band of mysterious monks who roamed the hills and they had sent the Stone away to be hidden.

"The majority of the village decided to leave with intentions to track down their Stone or, if they failed this, to relocate to more fertile land. They set off into the hills and found the monks. These mystical religious men told the travellers that the Stone had been taken to France, where no one would be able to find it. The monks were highly pessimistic and claimed that a Stone of such power would only be used for evil in the coming dark days. However, the villagers continued after the Stone nonetheless, going over the border and across French land until they could go no further. Penniless and exhausted, the villages settled in a valley on the outskirts of Toulouse. The land was rich and the location meant that they would be hard to find, which the villagers welcomed for they had become fearful people without the Stone they had depended on for so many decades.

"This," Francesco indicated with both hands, "is the village that they built. Even though they settled here for good, the villagers intended for their descendants to one day continue the quest for the Stone that had been taken from them."

As Francesco came to the end of his story, Marietta came in and turned on the oil lamps hung around the room. She left some grapes in a chalice on a table near the bed, before leaving the two men to talk further. Francesco offered the fruit to Nigel, who shook his head in decline, then put one in his own mouth. The Frenchman swallowed the grape and wiped a drop of juice from his chin with the back of his hand.

"It is said that the monks left clues to the whereabouts of the Stone," Francesco continued, "so that once the dark days were over, men pure of heart would be able to find it. The first of these clues is in a tomb just south of Toulouse, not far from here."

"Hmm, a tomb containing the remains of one of the monks who died on the journey," Nigel added.

Francesco couldn't have grinned wider if he'd tried.

"Yes, yes. And this tomb is the one I found you in this morning! You were searching for the First Scroll of the Tiger, weren't you?" the Frenchman cried, jumping up with excitement.

"Yes," Nigel said, carefully.

"You've got to help me find the Stone!" Francesco said, eagerly. "Was the Scroll there? Did you find it?"

"I, uh, yes, but D'orage took it," Nigel replied, hesitantly.

Deflated somewhat, Francesco sank heavily back down onto his chair.

"I can remember what it said though."

The blue eyes snapped back up to Nigel's face.

"You can?"

"Well, um, most of it…I think."

Francesco grasped hold of Nigel's hand.

"What did it say? Wait! I'll write it down."

The Frenchman sprung to his feet, rummaged around in a writing desk and sat back down with some paper and a pen. He looked at Nigel expectantly.

"Uh, let me think…" Nigel closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in concentration. "Mire el tigre…y vaya a la cumbre…Es marcado por el ojo."

"Look at the tiger and go to the summit. It is marked by the eye," Francesco translated, scribbling wildly.

Nigel nodded, opening his eyes.

There was a polite knock on the open door. Francesco turned and waved the waiting man in.

"Señor de la Piedra," the man said, crossing the room, "the American woman has been found."

Francesco instantly pressed a palm against Nigel's chest, rightfully predicting that he would try to bolt upright.

"She was seen alive and well in Toulouse," the messenger continued. "There is an Englishman and a younger American woman with her."

"Preston and Karen…" Nigel muttered, in relief. "Oh, thank God…"

"It seems she is looking for us, Señor. She has been making enquires around the town." 

"Indeed. I expect she is looking for her friend here," Francesco said, gesturing towards Nigel.

"D'orage is also alive. He has guards tailing Professor Fox."

Francesco frowned with annoyance.

"Then we cannot risk bringing her to Pueblo de la Piedra," he said, regretfully. He turned to Nigel. "I'm sorry, mi amigo. But it is good that she is alive, yes?"

"I must go to her," Nigel insisted.

Francesco shook his head sadly. 

"That would be suicide. D'orage will have his guards on the lookout for you as well."

"But she must fear that I'm dead!" Nigel cried. "I've got to let her know I'm okay."

Francesco sighed and turned to the messenger.

"Pedro, do you think you'll be able to get a written message to Professor Fox?"

"Yes," the man replied. "But, Señor, it must be cryptic or else if D'orage gets hold of it…"

"I know, I know," Francesco muttered, looking thoughtfully down at the paper on his lap. The pen sprang to life and scrawled a couple of lines. The Frenchman then held up the sheet for Nigel to read. "How's that?"

"It's fine. But does this mean I won't be able to see Sydney until after someone's recovered the Stone?"

"I'm afraid so," Francesco said, genuinely sorry. He handed the message to Pedro and rose to his feet. After swinging the chair back to its proper place, he faced Nigel again. "Don't worry, we'll help you watch her back." 


	4. The Message

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Chapter Four: The Message

" 'That which you fear is not so. Continue to follow the eyes of the tiger'," Sydney read aloud.

"What does it mean?" Preston asked, frowning in confusion.

Sydney sat down on a nearby chair and stared unseeingly across the lobby of Le Hôtel Fluvial, her vision blurring at the edges as moisture rose to her eyes. She knew what the message meant. Professor Fox dropped her eyelids to shut in the tears and lifted a slightly trembling hand to her mouth, trying to make little of the extreme relief that was washing over her in deep waves.

"Sydney?"

The relic hunter looked up to meet the questioning look of her best friend's brother. Her eyelashes were damp and irises bright, but she had succeeded in not letting a single drop fall to her cheek. She cleared her throat before speaking.

"Nigel's alive. I-It means that Nigel's alive."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Preston sat down next to Sydney, his face in his hands, letting the blessed words sink in and welcoming the rush of relief. 

Slowly, Sydney folded the note and put it into her pocket. Then she stood up and placed a hand on the elder Bailey's shoulder.

"Go and find Karen, and meet me on the patio," she told him. "We've got a relic to find."

.

Five minutes later, Preston and Karen slipped onto white-painted metal chairs opposite Professor Sydney Fox, who was hidden behind a large map. Sydney folded the map with the ease of someone who was well acquainted with handling them in conditions far worse than the current warm evening air of Southern France that was stirred only by the occasional light breeze.

Putting the map on top of the assortment of faxes, books, photocopies and printouts that covered the tabletop, Sydney exchanged a brief smile with her secretary in silent celebration of the good news about Nigel. Then she became businesslike.

"There are thought to be three Scrolls hidden across France," Sydney said. "Each one gives a clue to lead you to the next, until you've found the third, which will tell you where the Stone is."

Preston nodded. He was already familiar with the myth, having researched it longingly, after Sydney and Nigel had departed to look for the Stone. He'd wanted to go with them, but he'd had arrangements to meet an old friend who was involved with the Egyptology conference. Not to mention the fact that they'd overlooked inviting him to join them. Nigel had called Preston from the airport, informing him that he and Sydney were about to depart to Toulouse.

Podge still isn't too keen on spending extensive amounts of time with me, Preston mused. He allowed himself to think of his brother in terms of the long outdated, childhood nickname he'd mercilessly given him, now that he knew Nigel was alive. Though, perhaps not well…he had been shot after all… Preston pushed the uncomfortable thoughts out of his mind.

"Nigel and I found the first clue – the First Scroll of the Tiger, as it is known – hidden in the tomb," Sydney went on. She sighed. "However, that parchment is now in the hands of D'orage or else lying at the bottom of the river."

Sydney stared into the Garonne from where she sat on the hotel patio, on the edge of the river's western bank. Here the water was still, reflecting the sun like a mirror, in sharp contrast to the rushing rapids that passed through the tomb, south of the city. The Scroll failed to miraculously float to the surface.

"Did you manage to read what it said?" Preston asked.

Sydney sighed again.

"Something about looking for the tiger…and its eye…" Sydney screwed up her forehead in concentration. "Damn it, Nigel would remember…" she muttered, bitterly. Slowly she brightened. "I think I've got it," she said, at last. "Or at least the gist." She opened a notepad and wrote it down, as she spoke, "Look for the tiger, go upwards and it will be marked by the eye…or something like that."

Karen looked like she was going to say something, but didn't.

"Maybe it's referring to pictures carved into rock," Preston suggested, thoughtfully.

"Or a rock shaped like a tiger…" Sydney said.

"Perhaps a cliff face has been weathered away to look like a face or an eye…"

"We'll have to go back to the tomb tomorrow," Sydney decided.

"The surroundings may give us a hint as to which way to go," Preston agreed.

"But what about these mystery guys we've been looking for?" Karen finally cut in. "Who, I presume, sent the note."

"I think we're meant to stop searching for them and focus on finding the relic. That way Nigel won't be harmed," Sydney explained.

"So, these people have Nigel held to ransom then?" Karen asked, looking severely alarmed.

"No, I don't think so," Sydney said, slowly. She looked thoughtful. "The message wasn't threatening. If anything it was a friendly warning. It's telling us that we'll see Nigel again if we follow the path to find the relic. Perhaps, it's unsafe for us to be reunited with Nigel until the Stone is recovered. I swear someone's been tailing us since we got back from the tomb."

Karen nodded.

"Someone searched my room this afternoon while we were out making inquires. I thought it was just the maid being nosy, but…"

"My guess is that D'orage survived the fall into the river, as I did. He's having our movements monitored."

Preston shifted uneasily in his chair.

"Are you sure we shouldn't give up this hunt? Perhaps the Guardian Stone isn't meant to be found yet. After all the monks did say – "

The two women both gave the Englishman a withering look.

"The message, Preston. It tells us to continue," Karen said, impatiently. Then she grinned and added, "Besides, when has a little opposition stopped Syd, hmm?"

.

.

As the sun set behind the rooftops of the city of Toulouse, Sydney Fox gripped a tight hold on the rail of her balcony and silently cried out her thanks to the world's mercy.

Nigel is alive…Nigel is alive… The repeated words were like tender kisses in her mind.

Tears flooded from her eyes, as she gave her heart this time to release the emotion she had kept reigned in all evening. With the lights in her room turned out to hide her profile, she smiled with unguarded happiness. The darkness of night kept secret her almost hysterical sobs, until they ceased an hour or so later.

Completely drained but at peace, Sydney slid into bed. She gave a wan smile to the imagined figure she saw stood framed by the moonlight filtering in through the window. Then pulled the sheets up close around her and fell into sweet dreams with him accompanying her.


	5. The Second Scroll of the Tiger

****

Chapter Five: The Second Scroll of the Tiger

"I didn't leave those there to tempt you out of bed," Francesco de la Piedra scolded, from where he stood framed by the doorway to Nigel's room.

"Oh, good morning, Francesco," Nigel greeted, distractedly. He briefly glanced up at the Frenchman, then picked up another buff-coloured card folder and pulled out its contents. Riffling through these new pages, he cross-referenced the information with the rest of the research that was spread out on the desk in front of him.

"You shouldn't be up, you know," the Frenchman complained, striding over to the table with a slight frown across his forehead.

"Hmm…" Nigel was clearly not paying attention to anything but the work he was engrossed in.

Francesco sighed and perched on the edge of the desk. With a faint smile on his lips, he watched the historian beavering away with such intense focus that it was a surprise that he remembered to breathe. 

"So…have you made any progress?"

The question took a few seconds to get through to Nigel's brain, but when it did he finally looked up.

"Uh, well…" He fingered the sheet that Francesco had noted the first clue to the whereabouts of the Guardian Stone on the evening before. "It talks about going to a summit, which is likely to be referring to the peak of a mountain not far from the tomb. 'Es marcado por el ojo', I think this means the place will be marked by an engraving of a tiger's eye like above the entrance to the tomb's main chamber."

"But there are mountains to the East and South of the tomb," Francesco said, "which does the Scroll mean?"

" 'Look at the tiger'… I can't tell without seeing the landscape. It could mean that something looks like a tiger, probably part of a mountain."

"So: climb to the summit of a mountain shaped like a tiger, and the Second Scroll will be hidden somewhere there, marked by an engraving of a tiger's eye."

"Yes, I think so," Nigel agreed. "When will we be leaving? We need to get there before D'orage."

"You aren't going anywhere, my friend," Francesco said, firmly.

"But –"

"As I said, you shouldn't even be out of bed," the Frenchman insisted, cutting off Nigel's protest. "You need to let your wound heal."

Nigel turned away to stare out of the window into the bright morning sunlight, hating the truth of the other man's words. Now that he wasn't absorbed in research, he was aware of the growing ache in his side caused by sitting up and he could feel the beginnings of light-headedness as his tiredness caught up with him.

"Come on," Francesco said, quietly. He stood up and put a hand under Nigel's arm to raise him to his feet. "I'll have Marietta fix up a telephone near your bed, so I can call you when I get to the tomb. I might still need your help."

Nigel nodded, tiredly, and allowed himself to be steered back to the comfort of the bed.

.

.

"I'm telling you, none of these mountains look even vaguely like part of a tiger!" de la Piedra insisted, irritably, for the fifth time.

"But they must!" Through the mobile phone, Nigel's voice was just as insistent.

"There's nothing!" Francesco cried, crossly, waving his arm up and down. Sighing heavily, he suggested, "Can't the clue mean something else?"

" 'Mire el tigre'…"

"But where is this blasted tiger?"

Nigel was silent for a few moments.

Suddenly, he cried out triumphantly, "That's it!"

"What is?"

"Where do tigers live?" Nigel asked, excitedly.

"What are you talking about?" Francesco demanded.

"In the East. Tiger's live in India, as did the man who gave your ancestor the Stone."

"Yes…"

"So, look at the tiger. Where's the tiger? In the East! Look to the East!"

"You're saying that the Second Scroll is at the peak of the eastern mountain?"

"Yes!"

"Ok, we'll take a look," Francesco said, his usual good-humour returning. Then added, "You'd better be right though. That's one hell of a hill. I don't want to go all the way up there only to find it's the wrong damn mountain."

"I'm sure," Nigel assured.

*******

*******

Sydney Fox ran her fingers over the engraving of the tiger's eye identical to the one in the tomb. The mid-afternoon sun hardly reached into the gap within the mountain rock, and the faint highlights it gave the edges of the carving made the oval eye seem to burn softly in the surrounding gloom.

At last she'd found it – the hiding place of the Second Scroll. If only Preston and Karen hadn't let her sleep late, she thought, irritably, then they'd have arrived sooner. The quicker she found this relic, the quicker she'd see Nigel again.

Behind Sydney, Preston appeared at the opening in the rock, his short brown hair tugged back by the high winds sweeping over the top of the mountain. He took a step into the sheltered fissure, narrowing his watering eyes to make out the marking on the wall.

"Is that… It is!" He turned to yell into the wind, "Karen! Over here! Sydney's found the eye."

Preston excitedly entered the crevice, the young secretary hurrying in shortly after. Sydney looked away from the engraving and shone her torch into dark depths of the cave beside it.

"Someone's been here," Sydney mumbled, noticing prints in the sandy entrance. "Be on your guard."

The three of them walked into the natural cave and began to make their way to the back. They hadn't gone more than six foot in, when the light of Preston's torch caught the edge of a roll of yellow-white paper. The Scroll lay against the rock wall with a short trail of disturbed grey sand leading up to its position indicating that the parchment had been thrown back into the cave from the entrance.

"Here," Preston said, and the others turned to look. He pocketed his torch and bent down to pick up the Scroll. "The seal's been broken," he announced, turning the rolled paper in his hands.

Questions streamed through Sydney's mind: Someone else had found the Scroll before them and left it…for her to find, what did this mean? The black-clothed men…had they found it? What if the writer of the message she'd received the day before wasn't one of them? What if they had lied to lure her into a trap? What if they hadn't even meant that Nigel was safe? Or something may have happened to him since then. What if Nigel was dead?

Taking a hold of herself, Sydney forced herself to quell the useless fear churning her stomach and take it that the message and Scroll had been left by a friend. Nigel was alive. He had to be.

"What does it say?" Sydney asked, shining her torch on the parchment as Preston unrolled it.

Preston read aloud the Spanish words that were neatly written with ink long ago, " 'Entre uno y dos es el fluido de la vida. Cerca de la fuente es un pueblo grande. Bajo es el tercero.' " 

*******

*******

" 'Between one and two is the fluid of life. Near the source is a large town. Under is the third.' " 

Dropping the sheet of notepaper he'd read from onto his lap, Francesco leant forward, his elbows on the arms of the wicker chair he was sat in. The late afternoon sun was comfortably warm on the balcony of Nigel's room. The Frenchman rested his chin in his palm, looking down into the courtyard, while Nigel, in the cushion-laden chair beside him, pondered the meaning of the Second Scroll of the Tiger.

" 'One and two'…the Scrolls?" Nigel suggested, thoughtfully. 

"Perhaps," Francesco replied, noncommittally, smiling as he watched his daughter, Nicole, and a young boy playing in the fountain below.

" 'The fluid of life'," Nigel continued. "Blood?"

"Or water."

"The Garonne!"

Francesco nodded slightly, still looking down into the courtyard.

"A large town near the source…a large town…uh…Bordeaux?" Nigel suggested. "The Third Scroll is underneath Bordeaux?"

"I'm willing to go with that," the Frenchman said, turning to grin at him.

"There's – "

Suddenly, the crack of a gunshot came from outside the villa walls.


	6. With Good Intention

****

Chapter Six: With Good Intention

At the unmistakable sound of the weapon going off, Francesco de la Piedra was immediately on his feet and bending over the side of the balcony.

"Nicole!" he shouted. "Quickly, get inside!"

He turned to find Nigel also stood up. All colour had fled from the Englishman's face and he unconsciously had a hand pressed against his shirt over the place where he had been shot thirty-two hours previous.

"What's going on?" Nigel asked, worriedly.

Francesco shook his head, as he hurriedly moved past him into the room. Nigel followed, but he stepped off the balcony onto the carpeted floor of his bedroom to find it empty.

"_Marietta! Nicole!_"

Francesco's frantic cries for his family led Nigel to him. He found the Frenchman paused at the top of the grand wooden staircase, and heard panicked running on the steps.

"Papa!"

Nicole came hurtling up the stairs, tears streaking her face, with her mother not far behind. The young girl stumbled on the last step, and Francesco quickly scooped the fallen child up into his arms. He swept down the stairs, holding Nicole close against him and catching hold of Marietta's hand with his free hand, pulling her after him.

"Jacques! Armand!" de la Piedra called, urgently.

Nigel went down the stairs after them, clutching his side, which burned with each step. His pale face was set in a grimace of pain, but he refused to rest until he'd reached the landing below, where the de la Piedra's had stopped. 

On the first floor landing, Francesco was talking anxiously with two men dressed totally in black and armed with rifles. The taller of the two men handed him a pistol, which he cocked while asking them further questions. Nigel joined them as Francesco sent the other two men off and they obediently ran back down to the ground floor.

The Frenchman brushed his lips against Nicole's forehead and passed her over into Marietta's arms.

"Take her and go to the west wing," Francesco commanded. "You should be safe there. They are approaching from the north and east."

Marietta nodded, meeting her husband's eyes briefly before carrying their daughter away down the corridor.

Francesco glanced at Nigel to acknowledge his presence, then explained the situation as they quickly descended the final flight of steps together. The cracking of bullets let loose sounded spasmodically from outside.

"D'orage's guards are attacking the village, more specifically this villa. I've had my own men on lookout for such an occurrence for days." De la Piedra sighed, heavily. "Blood will be spilt tonight."

They were on ground level now and passing through a passageway that ran along the outside wall of the villa. Arched windows lined the outer wall, letting in the waning sun's rays. A thick evergreen hedge blocked the view further away than a few feet to begin with, but when this ended what Nigel saw made him freeze to the spot halfway down the long corridor. Francesco paused beside him to look as well, though he appeared not in the least phased by what he saw.

"My God," Nigel breathed. "How many guards does D'orage have?"

"Many."

.

.

In the west wing of the de la Piedra villa, Nigel Bailey was leaning back on a deep and soft sofa, his head dropped sleepily to one side. It was a few minutes before midnight and the fighting had finally stopped half an hour ago.

The army of mercenaries that D'orage had sent to destroy the threat that was Pueblo de la Piedra was defeated. They were all either dead, imprisoned or had fled. Victory was owed to the village's well-fortified design and the skill and bravery of de la Piedra's guards. A house had been burnt to the ground, many other buildings were slightly damaged, there were multiple injuries, some serious, and two men had died.

Francesco was knelt beside his sobbing daughter in the centre of the room, with his ancient sword on the floor next to him, the blade stained with drying blood. The girl clung to her father's grubby shirt with both of her little hands and buried her face.

"Aw, mon chéri, it's alright," Francesco soothed, stroking Nicole's dark hair. "It's over now."

The waning oil lamps around the room cast yellow light onto the Frenchman's pale face. He was looking severely drawn and drained by stress and exertion. A small wound below his cheek marked where the tip of a sword had caught him, and was bleeding slightly. A red drop fell onto Nicole's hand.

"Papa, you're hurt!" she cried, looking up in alarm.

Marietta, having noticed as well, approached him with a small bowl and cloth. She dipped the cloth into the water in the bowl, then reached for his face. However, Francesco drew away from her, letting go of Nicole and standing up.

"Don't fuss, Marietta!" he growled, roughly wiping at the cut with the back of his hand. "It's only a scratch."

Nicole climbed up beside Nigel on the sofa and snuggled under the crochet blanket that was draped over him. She rested her tired head in his lap, and he idly played with her long hair.

"Jean-Paul, saddle my horse," Francesco ordered, as he sheathed his sword. "I must get to Bordeaux."

Marietta, having given up trying to treat her husband, put the bowl and cloth onto the table next to Nigel. With her back to Francesco, she poured water from a jug into a glass, then picked up a small bottle of pills and dropped one into the drink. Nigel sat up straighter as the capsule rapidly dissolved, but obeyed Marietta's hand action pleading his silence.

"Will you not at least drink something before you go?" Marietta asked Francesco, as she turned towards him again.

The Frenchman sighed, but took the water she offered and quickly gulped it down. As he lowered the empty glass, his hand trembled. Startled and frightened by the weakness that suddenly swept over him, Francesco gripped hold of his wife's arm with a desperate hand.

"Marie, something's wrong…" he gasped, as he struggled to keep his balance.

"Do not be frightened, my dear," Marietta soothed, catching his other hand tightly in hers as it reached for her. "Give in and sleep…sleep…"

Marietta caught her husband as he slumped, unconscious, in her arms. Nigel got up and hurried over to help her.

"He will be very angry when he wakes," Marietta warned Nigel with a wince of anticipation, as they eased Francesco's sleeping form onto the sofa.

.

.

Late the next morning, Nigel was awoken by a ruckus outside. Pushing the sheets from him, he climbed out of his bed. He opened the French doors to the balcony and, squinting against the bright sunlight, he looked over the rail down into the courtyard.

The horse that Francesco de la Piedra had been yelling repeatedly for was hastily trotted over to him, and he swung up into the saddle.

"My own wife! Betrayed by my own wife!" he shouted down at Marietta, as his horse danced about underneath him, unsettled by his anger. "Poisoned to sleep! Don't you know what is at stake, woman?"

Marietta had been right, Nigel reflected. Francesco was furious.

With one last growl of fury, the Frenchman whirled his horse around and left the villa with a clatter of cantering hooves.

On the balcony, Nicole appeared at Nigel's side and stared the way her father had gone.

"All this for a magic stone," the girl whispered, sadly, in a tone much wiser than her nine years.

Nigel looked down at her in surprise.

"Do we need this pebble of good fortune?" she asked, scornfully, and turned her face up to meet his eyes. "Are we starving? Are the fields full of sickly crops? Are our cattle dying?" The pretty young face darkened and turned again to the tall, iron gate through which her father had gone. "No. And war only comes when Papa looks for the Stone."

*******

*******

The ancient disused sewers under Bordeaux were slick with slime and greasy brown-coated rats. Preston grumbled incessantly about hating sewage and rabid rodents, and, with each squelching step, Karen wished she'd worn boots instead of trainers. Sydney, however, was so caught up in searching the cracked and crumbly walls for any place that the Third Scroll could be hidden, that she barely noticed even the horrid stench coming from the putrid conditions.

Eventually, after two hours searching, Sydney found the familiar engraving of a tiger's eye set into a wall. She scooped black sludge off the ledge below the marking and revealed a strip of rotting wood. The sodden wood broke under the pushing of her fingers and Sydney reached into the slot in the stone that it had covered. She brought out the Third Scroll and unrolled it for Preston to copy the text into a pad.

"Ok, now to return a favour," Sydney said, and pushed the Scroll back into its hiding place, but left the rotting wood clear.

"I just hope these mystery guys get to it before D'orage," Karen said, worriedly.

"I hope so too," Sydney muttered, as she led them back through the sewers to the way out.

.

Hidden around the corner, a man watched as the three relic hunters walked away from the hiding place of the Third Scroll. Once they were out of sight, the man went instantly to the Scroll. Silently, he pulled it out and slipped it into the pack on his back. Then he slowly followed the way Sydney Fox had gone.

At last stepping out into the afternoon sunshine, the man found Professor Fox and the other two to have left in the car they'd rented. So, safely alone, he pulled a phone from his pocket and quick-dialled 1. The person on the other end picked up at once.

"Monsieur D'orage, I've got it."


	7. Correspondence

****

Chapter Seven: Correspondence

The rain pelting against the hotel room window seemed to encourage the tears that welled up in Preston's eyes. It was getting late and his strength was failing him. Determinedly, he forced the tears back and focused on the translation of the Third Scroll.

A single clear drop fell onto the paper.

Frustrated, Preston flung the pad back onto the low table and strode to the window. He rubbed his eyes with his fists and stared out of the panes into the dark, watching the wind tossing the rain around.

The door to Preston's room in the Le Hôtel Fluvial opened and Sydney Fox entered.

"Are you ready to go down for dinner?" she asked.

"Sure," Preston muttered, his voice choked up. He made no attempt to move from the window.

Sydney sensed his mood and went to stand beside him.

"What…what if he's…" Preston couldn't complete the question.

"He's not," Sydney insisted.

"You can't be certain," the Englishman protested, turning his grief-stricken face towards her.

"Nigel is fine," she said, firmly. "He –"

She was cut off by Karen coming into the room.

"Syd, Professor Vale is on the phone," the young woman told her.

They went to Sydney's room and she picked up the receiver.

"Hello, Professor," Sydney greeted the aged historian who had given her and Nigel the lead to the whereabouts of the First Scroll of the Tiger.

"Ah, Sydney. Finally, I have tracked you down!" Professor Vale exclaimed, cheerfully.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I had an accident and lost my cell phone in the river."

"Are you alright?" Vale asked, concerned.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine, thank you. We found the Third Scroll in Bordeaux this afternoon."

"Excellent! Well, keep me informed, Sydney. I've returned home to Orleans. The conference was such a bore, though the new museum has some spectacular pieces." Sydney found herself wishing she'd stayed at the conference, dull or not. "Is Nigel there? I've been reading his research on those Russian artefacts found in Germany."

"Uh..." Sydney discovered her throat to be suddenly choked up and hurriedly cleared it. "No, I'm afraid he isn't here at the moment."

"Oh. Never mind, I'll talk to him some other time. Well, I'll see you soon and we can celebrate the recovery of the Guardian Stone. It will be a great addition to the University of Paris's museum."

"Yes," Sydney said, numbly.

"Goodbye, Sydney."

"Goodbye, Professor."

Sydney put down the receiver. The clatter it made against the base seemed deafening in the silence of the room.

*******

*******

The lamp on top of the grand piano cast a spotlight over Nicole de la Piedra as she played. Leaning against the instrument, Nigel listened carefully to the girl's skilled performance.

"Don't rush," he cautioned.

The girl's face creased with concentration and she bit onto her bottom lip.

"Slower…" Nigel murmured. "Ah, woah! See, now you're on the wrong cord."

Nicole lifted her fingers from the keys and her little chest rose and dropped with a heavy sigh. Nigel slid off his chair and went around to the keys. Nicole slid over to give him room to sit down beside her.

"It's no good rushing the difficult bits," Nigel told her, gently. "Don't think that the mistakes will blend in. You're more likely to go from one error to another."

"What's it supposed to sound like?" Nicole asked.

"I'll show you," Nigel offered, and Nicole stood up so that he could sit centrally on the stool.

Nigel's fingers danced deftly over the keys, calling clear notes from the piano in perfect rhythm. Once he'd completed the double page of music, he sat back and turned to Nicole, who had stood behind him listened and watching intently.

"Ok, now you try." Nigel started to rise, but Nicole placed a light hand on his shoulder.

"Wait." The girl went to the music books stacked on the seat of a nearby chair. She pulled out the one she wanted and flicked through to a page near the back, then came back over to the piano. "Can you play this one?" she asked, sliding the open book into the stand fixed above the keys.

Recognising the title, Nigel nodded and smiled. He put his hands to the keys again and played the complicated piece with the ease and pleasure of someone who had learnt the tune long ago and remembered it. The years that had passed since he had last played the song became insignificant and vanished like the room around him. He was back in the English home of his childhood, the worn and familiar keys of his family's piano under his fingertips. Nicole ceased to bother turning the pages of the music book and simply listened, enthralled by the music and in awe of the man who brought the notes to life.

"You play very well," Nicole praised, enthusiastically, when Nigel had finished.

"Thank you," Nigel replied, a hint of colour rising to his cheeks as the young girl continued to stare at him. "But my older brother plays better…he always beat me in competitions."

Nicole looked thoughtful, her young face again holding wisdom beyond her age.

"Perhaps…but I doubt he puts so much of himself into each note."

"You might be right…" Nigel's forehead creased into a slight frown as he considered the girl's words. "Yet, Preston does get into the music. He wouldn't have gained so many awards if he'd stayed detached."

"Yes, but you pour your soul into the piece. All your emotions ring from it. This is both your merit and your failing."

Nigel smiled, seeing the truth in what the insightful child said.

"Play me something you really enjoy," he requested, standing up.

"Alright."

Nicole positioned herself on the stool and calmly reached for the keys. She sang in Spanish along with the notes she played. The tune was elaborate and passed through many changes of style but always returned to a likeable and distinctive chorus. Her talented voice sung of a woman trapped in a tower and setting a canary free, wishing she could follow the bird. It was a song of hope.

"Amazing," Nigel murmured, after Nicole had finished. "Thank you."

"We must put on a production together," Nicole said. "Once this awful search for the Stone is over, the village will deserve a celebration."

"Maybe…"

Noticing that Nigel's thoughts had drifted back to the relic hunt and the American woman he missed so badly, Nicole reached for the sheet of music she'd been practising.

Suddenly, Francesco de la Piedra burst into the room.

"I've got it! I've got it!" the Frenchman cried, breathlessly. He waved an ancient scroll triumphantly in his hand.

He gave the rolled parchment to a startled Nigel, then sank down onto a chair, breathing heavily. His brown boots were scuffed from the road, and his white shirt was dirtied with sandy dust and had a tear in seam of the left shoulder.

"I managed to take it from the man D'orage had sent to find it," Francesco said, as Nigel carefully unrolled the scroll.

"What about Sydney? Did you see her?"

"No. Armand says she returned from Bordeaux earlier. She must have left the scroll for us to find, like we did for her."

Nigel became engrossed in the writing scrawled by the quill of one of the monks long ago, but a sudden thought made him look up.

"You said you took the Scroll from one of D'orage's men. Why didn't D'orage go to Bordeaux himself?"

"Aah," Francesco replied, mysteriously. He learned forward, smiling slightly and steepling his fingers. "It seems that Monsieur D'orage is currently very ill after his near drowning. He remains inside his expansive grounds in Toulouse and sends his guards to do all the work."

Nigel's gaze fell back down onto the ancient parchment and he nodded with the manner of someone finding what they expected to find.

"What does it say?" Francesco asked, regarding the young Englishman with interest.

"You haven't read it?"

"No, I wanted to get it safely back here. I didn't want to risk revealing it to all and sundry."

"I made some headway with my research of the Stone myth this afternoon…" Nigel rose to his feet and handed the Scroll to the Frenchman.

Nigel limped out of the room with an intrigued Francesco and Nicole rising to follow. He led them along the landing to his bedroom, where maps and texts were spread out over a desk. While the Englishman searched through his papers, Francesco looked down at the Scroll in his hands. 

Easily translating the Spanish into English, he read aloud, " 'Go full circle. Homeward is the forth eye. At four o'clock on midsummer's day, the eye will alight. In the labyrinth the gem is guarded.' "

"What does it mean?" Nicole asked Nigel, stepping closer to the desk.

Nigel finally gathered together what he was looking for. He glanced up to make sure he had both of the others' attention, then turned a book around to face them and pointed to the picture spread across the pages it was open on. The image was a photograph of a painting portraying what looked like a brown-coloured maze with a gold star in the centre.

"The myth claims that the Guardian Stone is hidden in a maze of tunnels, a labyrinth," he told them. "This labyrinth is thought to be not far from Toulouse. Hence, the clue says 'Go full circle', back to where we started: Toulouse. 'Homeward is the forth eye', homeward for the monks would be South, towards Spain. Therefore, the labyrinth must be in the mountains south of Toulouse."

"But where in the Southern mountains?" Francesco asked.

"Ah, well. 'At four o'clock on midsummer's day, the eye will alight.' There will be another engraving marking the entrance to the labyrinth and this must be in some sort of recess that the light reaches exactly at that time and date."

"Midsummer has past," the Frenchman pointed out.

"Hmm, yes. But it doesn't matter," Nigel said, smiling. "I've found reference to an engraving that was reported by climbers. An engraving shaped like an eye."

"So you know where the entrance to the labyrinth is?" Francesco asked, excitedly.

"Yes. I know exactly where it is," Nigel said. He pulled a map from under the book and pointed to a spot he'd circled at the base of the Southern mountain range. "There."

"Excellent!" Francesco cried. "Well done, Nigel!"

"What about the end of the clue?" Nicole asked, quietly. " 'In the labyrinth the gem is guarded', guarded by what?"

"Oh…" Nigel's face darkened and he showed them the book with the painting in again. "The Stone is in the middle of the labyrinth. We need to find the way to the centre…without setting off the traps."

"Traps? Booby traps?" Francesco asked, frowning with concern.

"Yes, and there are a lot of them," Nigel said, bleakly. "This book marks out some of them…spikes, water, trapdoors…the full works. The monks were rather proud of their creation and rightly so."

"How will we get past them?" Francesco asked.

"I've managed to piece together the general route to the centre and this book details some of the traps we'll come across. However, really the only thing that'll get us to the Stone is a hell of a lot of luck."

"Hmm…" The Frenchman turned to stare out of the window.

"I need to get this information to Sydney," Nigel said. "To get into the labyrinth unprepared would be suicide."

"Hmm?" Francesco de la Piedra turned around, looking distant. Nigel's words finally sunk in and his eyes focused. "Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Come with me."

Nigel grabbed the research he needed, then the Frenchman led him out of the room and down the stairs. Nicole scampered after them, but on the first floor landing Marietta appeared and took her off to bed. Francesco took Nigel to a thick wooden door on the ground floor. He pulled a key out of his pocket and turned it in the lock, then gestured for Nigel to go in ahead of him.

The room was square and without windows, yet its calm and warm tasteful colouring and decoration managed to stop it from being oppressive. 2' high, ancient bookcases lined the walls and, in the centre of the room, three aged desks were pushed together in a 'L' shape and covered with two computers, two printers, a fax machine, a scanner and a mountain of paperwork. Beside two filling cabinets, stood a photocopier and an overflowing wastepaper basket. A swivel chair with comfortable-looking leather seating was pushed under one of the desks. De la Piedra's study, Nigel presumed.

Francesco locked the door from the inside, then sat down and switched on one of the computers. The machine came to life and he keyed in a password. Then after loading up his email account, Francesco stood up and motioned Nigel into the chair.

Nigel sat down, finding that the chair was indeed very comfortable, and set about typing all he knew into an email to Sydney. He scanned and attached required images, then, after checking he'd included everything, he hit the send button.

Francesco waited until "Message sent" came up on the screen, then reached over and shut down the computer. He went to the door and turned back to Nigel who was staring at the blank screen, lost in thoughts of the woman he'd just emailed and worries about the following day.

"Nigel."

The Englishman snapped out of his musing and wearily got up.

"It is late, mi amigo," Francesco said, as he unlocked the door. His face slowly lit up with excitement, though he smiled wryly. "We must rest well, for I think tomorrow shall offer something of an adventure."


	8. The Labyrinth

****

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! A thousand apologies for taking such a very long time to update. Updates should now be swifter.

***********************************

****

Chapter Eight: The Labyrinth

Nigel half-successfully stifled a cry as Marietta gently wiped a wad of cotton wool soaked with antiseptic over his healing wound. 

The bullet's point of entry had been cauterised three days ago by El Pueblo de la Piedra's doctor, Henry Santino, after he had "fished out", as the doctor cheerily put it, the 6mm metal slug from D'orage's gun. Luckily for Nigel, he could remember nothing of the agonising pain that had brought him to semi-consciousness with screams, which had echoed around the villa and scared little Nicole into tears, and sent him back down into the dark escape of unconsciousness throughout the procedure.

Marietta dabbed the wound dry and then applied a cream, which was one of the remarkable herbal substances that Nigel owed a great deal of thanks to for the speediness of his recovery, along with the miraculous route of the bullet that had avoided his organs and caused minimal internal bleeding. The Frenchwoman wrapped fresh dressings around Nigel's torso and then strapped around an extra bandage to give the support he would no doubt need while undertaking the jarring movements involved with relic hunting.

Nigel thanked her and had just finished buttoning his shirt when Francesco arrived, a rifle slung over his shoulder and a pistol and holster in his hand.

"Here, put this on," the Frenchman instructed, handing Nigel the holstered gun.

The historian hesitated for a moment, before accepting the weapon and standing up to strap it around his waist.

"Good. Now it's time we set off," Francesco said, and he led the way from Nigel's room down and out into the early morning light of the courtyard.

Half a dozen men dressed completely in black waited on the backs of their horses, amongst whom were Armand and Jacques, and two stable-hands held empty-saddled mounts.

Francesco turned to his wife and kissed her affectionately. "Au revoir, my dear."

"Be careful, Francesco," Marietta said, softly and earnestly, pulling him into an embrace.

"I will," he assured her, drawing back to brush his lips over her forehead. "I promise."

Nicole came running out of the building and Francesco caught her in a hug. After being assured by her father that he would return soon, the young girl stepped over to Nigel. She stuck out her hand and shook Nigel's with a silly stern expression, then grinned wildly and flung herself into his arms.

"Enjoy your adventure, Nigel," she said, excitedly. Then she turned so her lips were close to his ear and whispered, "Please, find the Stone and end this horrible search that brings trouble to my father and the village."

"I'll do my best," Nigel whispered back.

Nicole planted a small kiss on his cheek and Nigel set her back down.

Francesco swung himself up onto his steed, while Nigel was assisted by the stable lad onto the other horse.

"Take care, all of you," Marietta said to assembled riders.

Francesco tipped his head in acknowledgement, then wheeled his nibble horse around and led the group out of the villa's gates at an active walk.

*******

*******

Sydney set the cafetiere and cups, which Le Hôtel Fluvial's room service had delivered, on the low table that Karen was sat cross-legged on the floor in front of.

"That's odd…" Karen muttered to herself, frowning at the laptop screen before her.

Sipping her steaming coffee, Sydney came around to look over her secretary's shoulder.

"What's up?"

"You've got an email from an address I don't recognise," Karen explained. "Subject: 'The Labyrinth'."

"Open it up," Sydney instructed, her voice tense, as she crouched down to see better.

Karen quickly obliged and started to read the message aloud.

"'Dear Syd, This is Nigel' - "

Karen gasped and the mug almost slipped from Sydney's hand. Putting the coffee safely on the table, Sydney pulled the laptop towards her and read aloud from where Karen had cut off.

"'I am safe and, if all goes well, we shall be reunited tomorrow. I was unable to contact you before now because of the need for security, however, that danger is now overridden by the dangers of the labyrinth where the Stone is hidden. I know the location of the entrance (see attached map) and have details of the layout of the maze and the traps within'…" 

*******

*******

The sweeping of the early sunlight over the valley was a spectacular sight. The greens of the grassland and woods were suddenly made more vibrant and the distant lake and streams glistened like silver-blue crystal. The rays caught the windows and rooftops of Pueblo de la Piedra and drew the chill, left by the night, out of the air.

Francesco led the group along overgrown trails up the hillside behind the village and around the brim of the valley, instead of using the much wider and well-worn track that led from the main gate to the nearest tarmac road. It was a route that made the equine choice for transportation essential, as the few cars and trucks owned by the village would never be able to make it up the narrow inclining paths.

When they arrived at a spur that overlooked the track through the valley below, Nigel saw the reason Francesco had given him for this more arduous route. From his vantage point, he could see many mercenaries hired by D'orage waiting in ambush alongside the road.

They got away from the valley without mishap and, upon reaching open ground, Francesco sped up the pace. The strong horses stretched out and all but flew over the grass. Despite slowing to pass over steep or wooded areas, the group maintained the speed until they pulled up at the Southern mountains.

Nigel slid weakly from the saddle of his blowing horse and leant against its sweat-soaked neck to keep himself upright. His face was ashen and taut with pain, and nausea and vertigo were having a raving party within his trembling body. 

A firm hand took hold of his shoulder and moved him away from the horse, only to quickly become a steadying arm around his waist that practically carried him over to sit against a fallen tree trunk.

With his back against the tree and his head in his hands, Nigel waited for his stomach to settle and the blood to stop pounding in his head before looking up. When he finally did, he found Francesco staring down at him worriedly.

"Are you ok?" the Frenchman asked, gently.

"I will be in a minute," Nigel murmured, taking a couple of deep breaths.

"Your wound…you're not bleeding, are you?"

"I don't think so…" Nigel pulled up his shirt to examine the bandages around his side, still blessedly spotless white. "No."

Francesco offered a bottle of water to Nigel, who accepted it and took a few tentative sips.

"Maybe you shouldn't have come…" the Frenchman muttered. "I was wrong to let you…I shouldn't - "

"No," Nigel objected, firmly. "I'll be fine."

Francesco looked down at the determined Englishman and relaxed as he realised the colour was returning to his face, he was no longer shaking and was taking thirsty gulps of the water.

"Alright. Let me know when you're ready to move on."

"I'm ready now," Nigel said, screwing the cap back on the bottle and stiffly standing up.

Nigel followed Francesco over to where the rest of the group had gathered, having tethered the horses. Moving made his wounded side scream at him to start with, but by the time they had located the eye carved into the mountain, it had numbed to a persistent ache and he barely even limped.

In the dark recess in the mountain base, the golden flames of their torches lit up the tiger's eye. Francesco ran his fingers over the Fourth Eye of the Tiger, closing his eyes briefly to savour the moment. They had finally reached the entrance to the labyrinth that contained the Guardian Stone, which had been wrongly kept from his family and village for more than a hundred years. This day he would reclaim the Stone.

Nigel led the way through a narrow gap in the rock and into the entrance tunnel to the labyrinth. The light from his burning torch illuminated a natural passageway that would have appeared nondescript were it not for the telltale carving outside. As he expected, after about ten minutes walking the tunnel forked. Without hesitation he took the left passage. 

However, they soon came to another fork and not the crossroads Nigel had been expecting. He stopped, put on his glasses and pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. Flicking through the pages, he anxiously wondered what he had missed. Francesco came up to stand beside him, while the other men hung back nervously looking to each other and muttering quietly.

"What's the problem?" Francesco whispered, leaning close to Nigel's ear and looking back at his men.

"There should be a crossroads here," Nigel answered, quietly.

Francesco struggled not to look crestfallen. "Eeny-meeny-miney-mo?" he suggested, flippantly.

Nigel sighed with the heaviness of the weight on his shoulders. "Left."

.

.

Water flooded in through the holes in the otherwise blank, four walls that trapped them. They were submerged up to their waists in a few minutes. The water level continued to rapidly rise.

Nigel tried to wring out his notebook to no avail, while the others pushed through the water to search the walls, ceiling and floor for a means of escape.

"I guess it wasn't left after all," Francesco yelled above the sound of the rushing water, as he appeared at Nigel's side.

"Apparently not," Nigel deadpanned. He threw his ruined notebook away in disgust.

With alarming speed the water level rose and rose. Soon it was lapping against Nigel's neck. His limbs were being slowly chilled into numbness. Desperately, he ran the palms of his hands over the smooth stone walls, searching for something, anything, whatever would enable them to escape. 

But he could find nothing.

Nigel looked down into the rising depths, which would soon be high enough to envelop his head, smothering him and filling his lungs until he was drowned. The torch he held above the water was damp, its flame slowly dying. Some of the other torches had already gone out. Gloom was taking over the fatal room they were trapped in, hidden beneath tons of rock.

The other men stilled, tilting their heads back to keep their faces above the water. They prayed with each panicked gasp of air that it would not be their last breath. 

However, Nigel didn't move, his eyes transfixed by the water that wanted to kill him. 

Something caught his attention. There was a flaring orange light deep down, as the water quenched a dropped torch. The fading fire weakly illuminated a small shape that appeared to be connected to the floor. Leaning back to take a gulp of air, Nigel shut his eyes and then plunged downwards.

The water swirled around him, as he opened his eyes and reached for the floor, his arms laden with his sodden shirtsleeves. His finger brushed metal and he seized hold of the little lever. Using his weight as leverage, he hauled the ancient handle. The scrapping sound was extraordinarily loud underwater and he clearly heard a click, before realising that the floor had opened up beneath his feet and he was falling.

*******

*******

Preston and Sydney pulled Karen up over the edge of the gapping hole that had opened under her. 

With the young secretary safely on solid ground again, Preston used a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead. His hands shook and he could do nothing to still them. He wasn't sure that it would be a very good idea to let him near the Guardian Stone, assuming, of course, that he lived long enough to get to the centre of the trap-laden labyrinth. Preston was developing an immense hatred for the relic that had caused him, Sydney, Karen and his brother such suffering. Absently rubbing his shoulder that had narrowly missed being skewered earlier, he was certain that he was going to have nightmares about spikes for months.

*******

*******

It took a while for the ringing in Nigel's head to quieten enough for him to hear the groans and movements of the others around him. Francesco had to shake him three times before he meekly responded. 

Slowly sitting up, Nigel realised that they had landed on the floor of one of the labyrinth's sandier tunnels and the water had drained through holes cut into the stone.

They dosed the torches with more oil from a container that Armand carried in his pack and lit them again. Rubbing his aching side, Nigel limped to the head of the group and led them on in the direction his compass claimed would take them to the centre of the labyrinth.

As they cautiously made their way through the treacherous tunnels, Francesco de la Piedra thought about Nigel's American friend and colleague, Professor Sydney Fox. He wondered if she had found her way into the labyrinth yet. Francesco was looking forward to meeting this woman that Nigel obviously liked and respected very much. From what the Englishman had told him, it seemed the two historians had been through a lot together while hunting relics across the globe. He knew from his own experiences while seeking the Guardian Stone that their 'profession' was a dangerous one. Yet, it reaped many rewards. He only hoped this quest would be as successful.

A sharp intake of breath snapped Francesco out of his reverie.

Nigel had come to a sudden stop in front of him. "Good Lord…" the Englishman muttered, his voice filled with awe.

Francesco's gaze followed Nigel's wide-eyed stare. What he saw made him gasp as well. The blank rock-walled tunnel they had followed for the last mile or so had ended and they stood on the threshold of a large chamber that was coated in some kind of writing. Each word was etched into the smoothed stone and filled with gold, silver leaf formed borders around the passages of text, and red and green gems appeared to be punctuation marks. The reflected light from the torches was dazzling.

"What is it?" Francesco asked, awe-struck, as he stepped after Nigel into the room.

"Some form of ancient Spanish…I can't translate much of it… Though, if I were to make a guess, I'd say it was the monks' sacred text, their 'bible'."

Francesco ran his fingers over the cool metallic lettering, attempting to read some of it himself. "Yes, I think you're right."

"Is it another booby trap?" Jacques asked, moving to de la Piedra's side.

Alarm flashed in Francesco's eyes, he snapped his hand from the wall and turned to Nigel for an answer.

"I don't think so…" Nigel told them, hesitantly. "We may be close to the centre of the labyrinth."

"And the Stone…" Francesco murmured.

The group walked through the chamber and out into the tunnel on the other side, almost regretting that they were leaving the beautiful and fascinating room behind. Like all the rest, the tunnel consisted of dull bare rock. However, it twisted a lot more and Nigel's compass seemed to be telling him that they had turned in a complete circle at least twice. It was about twenty minutes later when they reached a junction and stopped. There were two tunnels they could take, but a gold star was painted above one of them.

"The centre of the labyrinth," Nigel announced, smiling.

His eyes on the star, Nigel walked forward and the others followed close behind. 

Suddenly there was a collection of high-pitched whooshing sounds. Nigel felt something sharp stab into his thigh.

"Is everyone alright?" Francesco asked, worriedly. 

There were some affirmative noises from the men, as they looked at the darts that had harmlessly hit the rock behind them and now lay on the sandy floor.

Nigel wordlessly looked down at the red feather-tipped dart in his leg, a hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. A burning sensation travelled up his thigh, leaving a numbness in its wake. 

Slowly, he looked up and his lips moved to call for help. But then his eyes widened, he straightened and cried out something different.

"_Sydney!_"

"Nigel!" she responded, stepping out of the third tunnel with Preston and Karen.

Sydney Fox felt a jolt of joy and beamed with pleasure. Finally, after days of worry and uncertainty, Nigel stood before her, alive. He was looking a little worse for wear with a scrape on his chin, brown hair dishevelled, clothes soaked through and a dart sticking out of his thigh. As she looked closer, she released that he was pale beneath the grime on his face and he had lost a little weight from his already slender frame since she had seen him last. However, a broad grin was spread across his face, his hazel eyes bright with happiness.

Nigel look a step towards her, but without warning his leg gave way and he went crashing to the ground.

Sydney was instantly at his side, taut with fear, and tried to help him up. However, he couldn't seem to get his legs under him and he slumped against her. Sweat broke out in beads on his forehead and she could feel his heart racing under her hand.

"Nigel, what's wrong?" she asked, desperately.

"Syd…" he gasped, clutching her arm tightly. "I can't see…everything's blurred…"

She could do nothing as Nigel's eyes slid closed and his hand lost its grip.

.

__

To be continued…


	9. In Sickness

****

Chapter Nine: In Sickness

"What are you doing?" Sydney demanded of the dark-haired man carefully pulling the dart from Nigel's thigh.

The man lifted the tiny metal tip to his nose. "As I feared," he muttered. His worried blue eyes rose to meet hers. "Kytesh, poison drawn from the sap of the potent herb of the same name." 

"What does that mean?" Preston asked, softly, fearing the answer.

"We have the antidote back at the village, but we must hurry or it will be useless." 

Without another word, the man reached down. Preston caught on and helped the stranger to pick Nigel up.

"Armand, lead the way," the man ordered one of the other strangers.

"Señor de la Piedra," a third stranger said, stepping forward. He held an amber-coloured oval stone out on his palm.

"Gracias, Jacques. Now, Armand, quickly!"

.

A gasp flew from Karen's pale pink-painted lips, as she blinked against the glare of the afternoon sun and saw a dozen of D'orage's men waiting to 'greet' them at the entrance to the labyrinth. Twelve pistol barrels were levelled, trigger fingers eager to squeeze.

"Hand over the Stone, Monsieur de la Piedra," the leader of the mercenaries ordered.

However, de la Piedra didn't even grace the man with a glance. "Keep going," he muttered, quietly, to Preston when he hesitated.

Sydney stopped a little in front of Karen, who stood rooted to the spot by fear, and frowned with confusion and worry. Her hand tensed around her little crossbow. She didn't want a repeat of what had happened when cornered by D'orage himself.

"Wait…"

"It's ok, Professor Fox," de la Piedra assured, looking over his shoulder at her. "They cannot harm us. We have the Guardian Stone."

She was still uncertain and it seemed that the mercenaries were unconvinced as well, for it was then that their leader ordered them to fire. 

To Professor Sydney Fox time stood still. She didn't draw breath, waiting for what was sure to come.

Yet, seconds passed and their wasn't a single report from any of the guns.

"Que le…?" The commanding mercenary didn't seem to understand it either. Try as he and his men may they could not squeeze the triggers of their guns. They reached for their knives instead, but the blades inexplicably slipped from their hands.

Meanwhile, de la Piedra was quickly whispering orders to Armand. "Take the horses and go back the way we came. I will go with Nigel and his friends in their car. The Stone will protect me, but you must ride fast before D'orage's men realise that you are unprotected."

"Sí, Señor."

Armand led the other black-clothed men to the horses and slipped away through the trees, while de la Piedra and Preston gently placed Nigel in the back of Sydney's rental car, all unhindered by the perplexed and alarmed mercenaries. Karen and Sydney climbed in the back of the car, de la Piedra took the front passenger seat and Preston took the wheel. The vehicle then sped away along the dirt track leading from the mountain to the road.

With his head on her lap, Sydney gently wiped away the hair stuck to Nigel's burning forehead. To finally be reunited with him, only to… She couldn't bear to think of it. Instead she switched her mind to other matters.

"Who exactly are you?" she demanded of de la Piedra.

The Frenchman with the Spanish surname obligingly twisted around to face her. He glanced worriedly down at Nigel's pallid face, then raised an apologetic gaze to Sydney. 

"I'm sorry, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Francesco de la Piedra. We are going to my village, El Pueblo Ocultado de la Piedra. I am a descendant of the Spanish fisherman that the Guardian Stone was given to all those many hundreds of years ago."

"It was you that attacked D'orage in the tomb?"

"Oui."

"And it was you who took away and treated Nigel?"

"Oui."

"He's been at your village ever since?"

"Oui. The village was closer than Toulouse, so I sent him there with some of the others, while I led a search for you and D'orage along the river. Regrettably, once he was well enough to leave, I could not let him. D'orage has had the village under watch and even launched an attack against it. For Nigel to have left and sought you, who I knew was being tailed by D'orage, would have been suicide. He understood this; I assure you, I have not kept your friend prisoner."

"Then I believe thanks are in order, Señor de la Piedra."

Francesco shrugged. "Nigel's help has been invaluable. I doubt I would have managed to find the Stone without him." His expression became sorrowful and his gaze slid down again to the unconscious and feverish Englishman. "And he has become a good friend to my family and I."

.

.

As soon as they had drawn up in the courtyard of Francesco de la Piedra's villa, the Frenchman had called for aid and the antidote had been injected into Nigel's bloodstream in the car. Francesco and Preston had then carried him inside and up to a bedroom on the second floor. 

Sydney and the others stood back to let Dr Henry Santino and Marietta de la Piedra work. Nigel was soon cleaned up and had fresh bandages wrapped around his healing gunshot wound.

The doctor then approached Sydney and Francesco, and Preston moved to sit next to his younger brother. A young girl with long, dark hair dashed forward and stood at the foot of the bed, chewing her nails.

"Don't bite your nails, Nicole," Marietta admonished, softly, as she passed by on her way over to the others.

Nicole obediently dropped her hands and quietly climbed up to sit on the end of the bed.

Henry Santino's grave expression made it even harder for Sydney to suppress the fear that threatened to overcome her. 

He swallowed and then addressed Francesco first, "As you know," he then turned to Sydney, "and you must have guessed, Ms Fox, Nigel's body was in a weakened state when he left on this…expedition."

Marietta wrapped an arm around her husband, who pulled her close in response, and she rested her head against him.

"The gunshot wound," Karen murmured.

The doctor nodded. "Though he was well on the mend, he was probably running mostly on adrenaline by the time he was hit by the dart. An adult in full-health usually dies within four hours once poisoned with kytesh, if not given the antidote. In the case of the antidote being given, it can only cure if the poison has not spread too far and done too much damage, otherwise it will only draw out the time until inevitable death."

"A-and what if the person was already weak?" Preston asked, shakily, from Nigel's bedside.

"Chance of survival becomes incredibly small."

Fear clamped Sydney's chest. "Nigel…?"

"I suggest you pray, Ms Fox," Henry Santino said, sadly.

"Déjà vu…" Francesco muttered, bitterly, and pulled away from his wife.

.

__

TBC…(one more chapter to go)…

*******************************************

(AN: As far as I know kytesh doesn't actually exist.)


	10. Sunset and Sunrise

****

Chapter Ten: Sunset and Sunrise

Nightfall found Sydney Fox sat quiet and alone at Nigel's beside. Her friend was caught in the throngs of a vigorous fever, his sweat-dripping chest heaving with each laboured breath. A light breeze gently billowed the thin drapes drawn back from the open balcony doors, but nothing, not even the poison's antidote, seemed able to quench the scorching heat that burned through him.

Sydney's eyes ached and the stars promised to watch over him, yet still she fought against her exhaustion. She couldn't give in to sleep when she willed Nigel to overcome the fatal clutches of kytesh, a much tougher feat. So, she would stay awake and with him until the fever passed and she saw his hazel eyes in the dawn light.

__

Unless he died…

But that wasn't an option. Not in Sydney's mind. There was no way she could lose him, not now, not ever. Though, still she inwardly trembled with fear.

The soft creaking of the floorboards announced the otherwise silent arrival. Sydney's first thought was of Preston or Karen unable to sleep in their nearby rooms. However, she soon realised that the soft footsteps she heard were too light for an adult.

She turned to see little Nicole's face cast with a halo by the candle she held before her. The de la Piedra child smiled slightly and continued her approach, the night wind playing with the flowing skirts of her white nightdress and gown.

Sydney watched as the girl went around the bed and set her candle down on the bedside cabinet, then gracefully got up onto the sweat-dampened sheets and sat next to Nigel's chest. Nicole sighed, softly and sadly, and stoked his burning cheek with her small hand. She then reached down for his hand and held it in both of hers. With her beautiful voice, the girl quietly sung a prayer:

"Let these dark hours pass, my Lord. Let the sun dry our tears, my Lord. Let him live. _Permita que él viva._"

She turned an intense, yet distant gaze towards the stars.

"A stone, a pretty little gem…" she whispered. "Powers? Yes. Needed? No. A worthless amber jewel to us… Oh, Papa, Papa, how you have believed, how you have sought, how you have battled… Yet, for what, Papa? Why have you searched for this little gem that we do not need? Now you have it, it does not seem so important, does it? Oh, Papa, Papa…"

She looked down and was silent.

After a few moments, she slid down from the bed and picked up her candle. Sydney saw tears glistening in her blue eyes.

"Nicole?"

"He spoke of you often," the girl said, turning her gaze back to Nigel. Suddenly, she smiled, meeting Sydney's eyes. "Do you know he can play the piano?"

"Yes."

"He is very good."

"I know." Sydney smiled, sadly.

"We are going to perform to the village. When he is well, of course." Then her face darkened. "Unless…unless…" She choked on a sob. "But we won't talk of that." A tear trickled down her cheek.

"No."

"He told me of your relic hunts, the dangers you faced and the wonders you found. And he cares for you very much, Sydney. He worried about you all the time."

"He worried about me?"

"Yes. Always. We knew that D'orage was having you followed and we saw what his mercenaries were capable of here." Her eyes went back to Nigel again. "When he first awoke and we didn't know where you were, he was very distressed. Then when Papa told him that you might have drowned, he had to hold him down or else he would have reopened his wound."

"Oh, Nigel…"

"He is strong. Maman and the doctor weren't sure if he would survive the gun wound, but he did." Nicole's expression settled into determination. "There is still hope now."

"I'm not giving up on him," Sydney assured her.

"And nor am I. Good night, Sydney."

"Good night, Nicole."

The girl left as quietly as she had come. 

Sydney was left alone again with her haunted thoughts. Leaning forward, she rested her arms on the bed and her cheek on her arms. She shut her eyes to trap the tears inside.

.

"Please forgive me, mon ami."

Opening her eyes at the sound of the deep and sorrowful voice, Sydney was surprised to see Francesco de la Piedra standing on the threshold of the balcony. She wondered how long he had been out there.

"This is all because of me and my hunt for a pointless stone," he continued, not noticing that Sydney was looking at him. "I am a fool. The worst of fools, for my stupidity and selfishness are costing you your life. I should die for my actions, not you."

Francesco stepped further into the room and threw the Guardian Stone down onto the foot of the bed. The moonlight revealed the tracks of dried tears on his face.

"If you die, Nigel, I shall never forgive myself."

"He isn't going to die," Sydney said, the certainty in her voice surprising herself.

Francesco looked dazed with shock for a moment, dumbly watching Sydney sit up.

"What were you going to do with the Stone?" he asked, eventually. "I never thought to ask Nigel…"

"L'université de Paris has just opened a museum. I was going to give it to them."

"Then do. I don't want it and the village has no need for it."

Sydney's eyes followed Francesco as he left, holding no hatred for the distraught man herself and sure that Nigel didn't either.

.

.

The sun was up when Sydney awoke. She cursed herself for having fallen asleep and worked the crick out of her neck.

Nigel was lying still on the bed, peaceful and breathing easily. Her heart leapt and she reached for his hand at once. Then she wiped away the stuck dry hair and gently pressed her palm against his forehead. His skin was cool.

Dr Santino's words came back to her:

"Only if the fever breaks, will he live."

His fever had broken.

Nigel muttered something unintelligible in his sleep and his eyelids fluttered. Sydney softly called his name, drawing him closer to consciousness.

"Nigel, wake up. Come back to me…"

He obeyed, his hazel eyes opening and slowing focusing on her. He smiled.

"Syd…" His voice was hoarse and frail, but that of a living man.

Sydney clutched Nigel's hand, her eyes bright and lips smiling with heartfelt joy.

**__**

~ Fin ~

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Author's Ending Note: Thank you very much for the reviews! This is the first long, chaptered fanfic (i.e. fic with a proper plot!) that I've completed and receiving positive feedback has made me a very, very happy writer!


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